Return drift

27F
03:34:08 of Saturday 27 February 2010. I woke up. My bed was like a raft on the river current, and I thought
the hut would be absorbed by the swampy ground that formed from the falling leaves of the trees. I groped my
way out into the courtyard and touched and reached out my ear to hear the earth. The forest was sloping
towards the mountain, I climbed it. As I walked, I kept shaking, this time I heard the concert of the leaves on
the trees, I advanced faster until I left the high forest and reached an inclined path, I climbed it among quilas
and murras, finally I found an open space and I spent the rest of the night there without being able to imagine
the catastrophe, just looking at that full moon that was recorded in our memories, under a strange night where
even the wind sounded different.

12 PSILOCYBE CUBENSIS
Winter 2011. Go back to Niebla. My friend was waiting for me with some magic mushrooms we had grown. We
went to an isolated place between the rocks and the sea, I sat inside a cave a little bigger than me, I saw the
lives of his rock, his whole life was passing in front of my eyes, his cracks were like the cracks in my hands full
of earth. Afterwards, my friend came back for me, I was distracted when he spoke to me, I wanted to see the
clouds move that felt like my own movement. We went back to the hut, he took my food to the balcony, it was
noodles, I asked him to leave me alone, he watched me from the window, while I tried to hide so I could play
quietly with the noodles.

THE DEATH
2012, maybe winter. That morning he woke up with a dead pig, It had to be buried immediately to avoid a
pandemic among the other pigs. I dug a hole without stopping, that was big enough to bury the pig that was
about one and a half meters long, when I finished I was inside the hole with my hearing at the height of the
grass, I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away by the texture of the sound of each grass shaken by
the wind, then it was a great sound mass that carried me forming a spiral towards the interior of an infinite well,
a second of consciousness made me return.

PULGA (FLEA)
Winter 2013. I had gone to live in Puerto Cisnes, an abandoned village between the Andes Mountains and the
Pacific Ocean. That's where I met Pulga. Pulga helped me chop the wet wood and cook the conger eels that
made me nervous about their snake tail. Pulga read philosophy, Aristotle, Plato, Nietzsche, Heidegger, I
remember that he mispronounced their names and their complex concepts, however, Pulga transported me to
his own philosophy. Pulga was short, had curly hair up to his shoulders and pink cheeks, was thin and had
rounded wadding. Pulga reminded me of my mother, perhaps because of his hair, his candidacy, and the
sparkle in his eyes. Pulga worked as an industrial diver in the fisheries and sometimes I saw him dressed as a
marine diver, I associated him with a sea flea. Sometimes he would invite me to dinner sea lion that he himself
hunted and cooked on the wood stove that he had made; he would put large pieces of meat on a giant wooden
board. From time to time, Pulga, to entertain me, danced with his masks which were the barks of trees that he
had collected in the old forests, telling me that he was the reincarnation of a Selknam. The Selknam were a
people who inhabited the Tierra del Fuego archipelago, who were killed by hunting or by the introduction of
foreign diseases by the British, Argentinian and Chilean colonists who arrived in their territory in search of gold.

AN INAUDIBLE SOUND
At the beginning of 2014 I bought my first sound recorder, external directional microphone and a wand to reach
the textures of waterfalls and the leaves of trees shaking in the wind. I started collecting a sound bank,
classifying the different water sources, and imagining epiphanies of water travel with sound. I ventured to
interpret the movements of the underground waters of the city of Valdivia, an urban insistence in the form of an
archipelago that appears and disappears indefinitely in time. I was looking for the sound located under the
concrete floor to account for the listening of an inaudible sound.

FOREIGNER
Winter 2017. I got off the bus in the middle of an immense highway in the middle of the desert, there was a
small village in front with adobe houses. I entered, it was like entering a small labyrinth, there were no people
hanging around in its dirt streets, I finally came to a hallway with people who were disassemble their craft
stalls, I had written down on a piece of paper the name of a woman who appeared on an internet forum where
it was pointed out that she provided accommodation, they told me she no longer lived there, but they took me
to a hostel, I was the only guest in a big room of salt. It was getting dark and I went to see the horizon before it
got dark, the whole place was silent and I realized that the sound of my steps was amplified in the horizontality
of the desert, I had the bad idea to whistle, and I saw some dogs coming from far away running and barking , I
ran back, I couldn't open the brass door to the courtyard of the hostel, and I heard the dogs coming, there was
no one in the streets, finally I forced it so much that it gave up the stick that was holding it.